Speechless
by thebaddestwolf
Summary: After some alien venom renders Rose and the Doctor temporarily speechless, she is furious at him. However will he apologize? Smutty little one-shot.


***Author's Note: I am currently unable to type with one hand (be careful with knives) and feel a bit muted as a result, so I wrote little a smutty fic where Ten and Rose can't speak either. Yes, this was painstakingly typed one-handedly. [insert wanking joke]***

The alien venom may have rendered them both speechless, but that didn't stop Rose from storming into the Doctor's bedroom, ready for a confrontation.

He was sitting at his desk, one hand scribbling furiously, the other running through his disheveled hair. Rose slammed the door and he jumped, twisting in his seat to face her. He cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak before remembering he couldn't. He shrugged.

Rose marched over to him and jabbed her index finger into his sternum three times before he caught it. She glared down at him, attempting to yank her finger free, but he caught her wrist just in time and held it still, her fist bawled against his chest. He gave her a soft smile and tilted his head – his puppy-dog apology look – but Rose only rolled her eyes and tugged at his grasp. He wasn't gonna get out of this that easy.

She rotated her wrist with the right combination of speed, force, and friction to extricate her arm from him – a trick Shareen had taught her to get away from aggressive drunks in bars – and began to turn away. Coming into his room was a bad idea after all. She could barely get through to him when she could speak – like this she didn't even stand a chance. If only the venom had solely infected him.

Before Rose could take a step he was standing, grabbing her waist, and pushing her back against the desk. Mouth fallen open in surprise, her glare intensified, and she shoved his chest. He didn't budge. Deceptively strong skinny sod. Instead, he pressed his hips against hers, pinning her to the desk, its wood edges cutting into the tops of her thighs through the thin material of her skirt.

He made the puppy-dog face again.

She shoved.

He kissed her nose.

She shoved.

He kissed her cheek.

She met his gaze, eyes wide, jaw set, mentally screaming at him to let her go. The apology was gone from his face now and Rose felt the urge to test him, to tiptoe along the edge and maybe nudge him over.

She tried to suppress a smirk as she shoved him again.

Rose could hear pens falling to the floor as he grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the desk, papers crinkling beneath her. For the first time she wished he had his voice back because she knew in that moment he would have growled. He wrestled a knee between hers, followed by his hips. The Doctor's hand went to the small of her back, pulling her into him, making sure she felt him hard against her. As if she didn't already know.

She struggled halfheartedly, her anger twining with lust, creating a new cocktail of heated aggression. She could tell he felt it to, the way his breath came sharp above her ear and he leaned into her, pushing her back against the desk so she was supporting herself on her elbows.

Rose ran her heels down the backs of the Doctor's thighs until they hit the sensitive area behind his knees. One buckled and his whole weight landed on her. Rose was truly trapped now, not that she'd been planning on going anywhere for several minutes. Not that she didn't love the feel of him on her.

She wriggled her hips as best she could against him – one last sad attempt at protestation – and he slammed his mouth onto hers, teeth gnashing, tongue seeking. The room seemed to fill with the sounds of wet lips meeting and sharp breaths hissing, and Rose wished she could moan into his mouth the way he likes. Instead, she yanks the shirttails from his trousers, reaches her hand beneath the starchy fabric, and drags her nails from his neck downward, positive she is leaving five jagged red lines in their wake.

The Doctor would have growled at that too, she's sure of it, but instead he pulled at the neckline of her blouse, popping a few buttons. She dug her nails in as retribution as his mouth reaches her left nipple, sucking hard, teeth scraping. Rose silently congratulated herself on opting out of wearing a bra today, something she's been doing more and more because she likes the look on his face when he notices.

Arching into him, her fingers dance along his sides until they meet at his stomach, pushing below his waistband until the tightness of his belt stops them. His breath catches and he pulls himself upright, bringing her with him so she's leaning back on straightened arms. The blouse has fallen off both of her shoulders and is pooling at her waist. He doesn't take his eyes off her breasts as he hitches up her skirt around her thighs, as he works at his fly.

He doesn't even venture a finger into her to make sure she's ready, he knows by now that she will be, that she always is. Rose has a feeling he's learned to smell her arousal too, the way he always knows when she wants him, even if she's across the room.

He glides into her, the perfect combination of wetness and friction, and Rose lets out a breathy gasp where a moan should be. She hopes her face says it all as he pounds into her, fucking every last trace of the glare from her eyes. She forgot why she was angry, silently vows to never be mad at him again so long as it's always like this; needy, and heated, and half-dressed, although she would prefer it if they could turn off mute.

There are other times, though, when the effects of this venom would have been helpful; in the space station broom closet when she couldn't help but yell his name, on the couch in the flat when she swallowed around him and he moaned so loud she worried he'd wake her mum. But here in the TARDIS, with no one in light-years to hear them, they liked to be make noise, relished in it, made a competition out of who could elicit the loudest sound from the other.

Now reduced to gasps and sighs, the Doctor uses one hand to cradle her back as the other grips the desk, which is losing books and papers and alien tools by the second. The flutter of floating paper, beat of falling books, and metallic tones of gadgets hitting the floor create an uneven symphony, combined with the quickening rhythm of the desk knocking against the wall and two sets of shallow breaths.

The Doctor's lips found Rose's again and are still just as hungry as before he was inside her. Their tongues battled as he bent his knees, changing the angle of his cock so that it hits her just there, and Rose gasped against his neck, clinging to him, legs locking around his back.

Judging by the speed of his breath – and thrusts – Rose guessed the Doctor was nearly there too. He let go of the desk to snake his hand between them and rub small circles on her clit. A paper beneath her tore as she came, as if sliced by the sharpness of her hot breaths cutting the air beside the Doctor's neck.

She continued to clench her muscles around him as he slammed into her, clutching her to him, face buried in her hair. His breathing quickened and then stopped all together as he came. Rose swore she could feel his lips moving against her skin.

After a moment he straightened, moving Rose back into a sitting position, but not pulling out from her. She loved when he did that, and while she never said anything, she figured he knew it.

He kissed her again, slow and lazy, and when he stopped it was Rose's turn to look apologetic, as she had likely ruined all of the papers she sat upon, in one way or another.

She reached down and lifted one such paper that was sticking to her thigh. The ink was still wet. Rose smiled as she read.

Dear Rose,  
You were right. The venom does temporarily freeze the larynx and voice box.  
I love you.  
Always,  
Your Doctor


End file.
